


Major André's Coat

by runawayforthesummer



Category: 18th Century CE RPF, Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Consensual, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-17
Updated: 2016-05-17
Packaged: 2018-06-08 22:57:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6878239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/runawayforthesummer/pseuds/runawayforthesummer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hamilton stole Major André's coat after André's execution.  His new wife, who always had a crush on André, finds the coat. They decide to have some fun.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Major André's Coat

**Author's Note:**

  * For [iaintinapatientphase](https://archiveofourown.org/users/iaintinapatientphase/gifts).



> For Emily and Becca who both encouraged this and now will have to be connected to it as long as I am.

Though he’d only just returned from his honeymoon in Albany, the General gave Alexander a day off once Eliza arrived in New Windsor. In Albany, they’d been constantly surrounded by family and only ever encouraged to be alone in the bedroom. He’d been tempted to write her letters, even then, for he felt there was no time to tell her any of the things he was feeling towards her between the dinners and parties and talk of politics and their alone time, which was not filled with many words at all.

They occasionally escaped for a long, wintery walk, which reminded him of Morristown, of her dark eyes against the fresh snow and her lips red from the cold against his. Except now Eliza would hold his hand and initiate kisses. 

Still, it was not enough and he yearned to be alone with his wife. He smiled every time he thought about it. His wife. It felt so odd to finally have someone who belonged to him. 

It had been near painful to leave ahead of her, but he knew it was her mother’s wish to impart marital wisdom on her daughter before she left to truly begin her married life.

Eliza never quite says it, but he knows she feels ever the replacement child for all the things her mother wishes she could’ve told her sister. But Eliza takes it because they let her marry him. He knows she traded any rebellion against her parents to have her marriage blessed. What they had both given up was any privacy in the large, Dutch family at Albany.

So that first day, with both of them new to the little house he had found (he’d stayed with the family upon his arrival back at camp as he looked for the home—ostensibly his reason for leaving two days before her), with nothing unpacked, they’d fallen into one another. 

At some point, they ate bread and butter and drank wine given to him by a member of the family. And then they went back to lovemaking. It made her smile, made her so obviously happy, and he treasured it.

It was painful to leave in the morning, his bride having made him breakfast and helped him dress. 

After she settled, she would join him at camp, help the General’s wife with tasks there, join in the little social circle that would teach her how to be a wife at camp. He knew Eliza would like it, would like to feel useful, and would be bored in the house by herself. ‘Soon…soon’ he thinks, there would be a child to occupy that time. His heart ached at the idea.

For now, though, he left her alone and wondered about her all day.

He supposes it’s a sign of the novelty of marriage that he did not think to unpack his own trunk. It should not have been a surprise that Eliza would, first thing, set about setting up their home.

He should have been more careful to make sure what items were within her easy reach. There are things of hers he should be shielded from. This is no different, really.

Yet, after he returns near nightfall, after she kisses him “hello,” after she feeds him supper, and he tells her about the dinner Mrs. Washington wants to host in honor of her arrival to camp and, she leads him into their bedroom and he finds that she has carefully laid out a redcoat over their bed quilt. 

He’s startled to see it, unsure what she’s thinking. Their marriage is so new! They don’t even know each other that well yet! She might think he’s a traitor and run back to her father.

"Whose is it?" she asks. And she seems curious more than anything. Maybe there's part of her hoping for some story of adventure, of him as the war hero he is.

She doesn't know that all he really does is write letters.

He wonders what it would be like to be the hero of her dreams, to be André. He had taken the coat once the dead man’s neck had snapped and the crowd had disappeared. 

He reaches out and touches the fabric, his fingers skim over the lapel, there's the faded mark of a woman's rouge not yet starched out.

"It belonged to John André."

Her mouth drops. But so do her eyes. Oh, the dead! The fallen! How his Betsey feels for them!

He moves to comfort her, pulls her plain mouth to his own lapel. There will be no stains that show, but he'll always feel the pressure of her lips against his coat.

But Eliza recovers quickly and moves to the redcoat. She picks it up, examines it. He wonders if she's feeling the weight of André just as he does.

“Was it very awful?” she asks. 

He does not want to think about it. He puts his hands over hers. “It is over.”

She nods. "Put it on," she demands, except it's not a demand. His Betsey is never demanding. It's a request filled with curiosity.

A promise that he can listen to her, do as she requests, and she'll never tell, never reveal the secrets he shares. 

He smiles at her. “I’ve got my own jacket on already.”

“Take it off.” She starts to push the jacket off of him herself. 

“Patience, Eliza.” She stops taking off his shirt and backs away, unsure suddenly. Their marriage is still so young; she’s still so new to knowing that he is hers so completely. 

“Would you like a drink first, then, darling?” she asks, her hands fidgeting at her sides. 

“No. No.” He rests his hands on her hips for a moment. He’s not tall, but she is so little that he can loom over her like he hasn’t any other woman. It’s an odd position to be in. She stares up at him and she’s trembling already. The power he has is almost intoxicating. She is his wife. His wife. She’s chosen him for this. He wonders, for a moment, what it might be like to be a woman—to give himself to only one person. It’s the risk of being unhappy and unsatisfied, and she took it with him. And he knows he must treasure it, must make sure she never feels those things, never regrets him. 

He starts to pull up her skirts, one hand remaining steady on her hip.

“No,” she protests. “You first.”

And then she kisses him, and soft and hungry, as he's come to expect from her. She starts everything tentatively until she feels comfortable, confident in what she’s doing. She has no idea how much her measured responses make him want her more. But now she’s demanding something from him and, god, all the waiting for her to gain confidence has been worth it.

She works at the buttons on his breeches.

He grabs her hands. “I can do it faster.” 

She nods. “Dear husband, please do.” 

He watches her watch him undress. Her own hands are on her hips now. She steadies herself, watches him with approval. In the candlelight he can feel her eyes on the sensitive parts of him. Their lovemaking before this has been in bed, under the covers. He knows she’s never really seen him, and even if her previous responses had been as enthusiastic as he wanted and expected, he’s suddenly insecure to have her staring at him so nakedly. 

“Can I approach you, miss?” he asks, his voice low. 

But he can’t because she approaches him. His cock twitches against the folds of her skirts as she presses herself against him, her mouth hot on his, her tongue darting into him. He moans her name and she presses herself closer. He reaches to raise her skirts again but she backs away once more.

He groans. 

She is flushed and her voice is in a higher register. “You must put on the coat.” 

The coat sits large on him. André was built for battle in ways Alexander was not.

Ridiculous as it is with him naked underneath, Eliza adjusts it, and he can feel her planning ways to hem it, to make it his own. He wants to tell her not to bother. He likes to feel like André could come in and wear it still.

But he knows what she'll be busy with tomorrow.

“Do you like it?” he asks, striking a pose.

Her bosom is heaving and he knows she does not have to answer. 

“May I undress you now?” he asks. 

Her mouth twitches and he watches her contemplate what she’s about to say. There’s a devious mind in her, he knows, and she suppresses it everywhere else. Oh, how he yearns for her to let him into it. 

He takes her hand and kisses her knuckles. She is his sweet wife, his loving wife and he loves her more than a woman should be loved, more than he ever thought himself capable of loving a woman. “Say it, my sweet,” he says against her hand. He opens her palm and presses more kisses to the inside. He kisses up her arm, pushing her sleeves out of the way until he can no more. He brings his lips to the top of her bosom, which gleans with sweat. He kisses up her throat to her ear and he repeats, “Tell me, my love.”

She puts her hands on the side of his face, holds him steady and looks him directly in the eyes. He nods, trying to make her see how safe she is. Finally she says, “My father is a general for the Continental Army.” 

His eyebrows shoot up, but he smiles, nods, encourages her.

“How can I be seen with an officer of the King? A spy, at that.” 

He could laugh he loves her so much. “Oh, my dear Ms. Schuyler. You are but too pretty for even I to ignore.” 

He undoes the strings of her dress and she turns. “Oh, I will get in trouble if I stay.” 

But Alexander turns her back to him. “You must help me,” he demands. Her dress is loose enough that he can get his hand down the front panel, can cup her breast. His thumb strokes her nipple as he wraps his other arm around her waist. She’s against him roughly now, with his hand inelegantly down her dress and his mouth hot against her ear. “They’re going to kill me by morning. And I must…I must taste you first. I’m at your mercy, Ms. Schuyler.”

She reaches her hand down to stroke him, his cock flat against her stomach. It’s hot and twitching with every touch of her fingers. She squeezes him and his knees nearly buckle. 

“Eliza,” he moans.

“No. It’s Ms. Schuyler to you.” Her voice hitches as she tries to be commanding.

“Alright.” He pinches her nipple and she sinks her teeth into his neck in pleasure. 

“For betraying my country,” she explains. And he laughs. She laughs too. For a moment, he does nothing but rock side to side with her. 

“Tell me how I can make it up to you.”

“Undress me, Major.” 

So he does. As he pulls her dress off, then her undercoats, until finally he pulls off the last layer and kisses down her body to her center. He’s on his knees now, his face right where he wants. He puts one hand on the back of her knee, strokes it lightly while his tongue licks the inside of her lips. He has not yet done this for her yet. Eliza has always been impatient to get to pleasing him. He knows there are expectations on both of them to have a child. He knows she knows everything about making a baby. But she does not know everything about how he can pleasure her.

She’s unsteady on her feet and he can feel her grappling to not go weak. She sucks in her breath as he pulls away to look at her. He rests his chin on her navel as he looks up at her. “Hold onto me, love.” 

She looks at him and nods, words lost. He pulls one of her legs over his shoulder, steadying her himself. His other holds her hip tightly. 

“What…about…you?” she pants. 

“You think this doesn’t please me too?”

Her eyes suddenly go completely soft and, oh, she must know. She must. How much he loves her, how making her happy makes him happy. 

He stands suddenly, worried that all this might be too much for her. He holds her carefully, wraps her into the too large coat with him. Her arms encircle his waist and he kisses the top of her head. “Betsey, you are so lovely. I am yours completely, my angel.”

She kisses him and he opens his mouth to her. He can feel how slick she is against his leg. Her hair will be matted with it in the morning if she doesn’t take a cloth to it tonight. He knows they won’t. She’s going to false asleep, exhausted, against him tonight and he will hold her tightly to his chest all night. 

“Would you like some wine, darling?” he asks. 

But she shakes his head. “Lie down.”

“You are sure?”

“Lie down,” she says, the confidence coming back in her voice. 

He tips his head. “I’m at your service, miss.”

He lies in the middle of the bed as she’s told him and he watches her walk towards him. It’s funny, he realizes, for all he worried earlier about her seeing him standing completely nude, he’s never seen her standing naked before this moment.

Lying down does not give the full effect of her shape, the way her waist dips in and her hips widen out, the way her breasts stand perked and waiting to be touched, kissed, and worshiped. He wants to pull her to him and put his mouth to her nipples, but he waits. He waits and he appreciates the way her throat and her shoulder meet in a smooth curve. How her stomach has the tiniest hint of roundness to her that she’s come by naturally. He’s proud of it, proud that she’s always had enough food in her belly. Her stomach is like a monument to her never wanting for anything and he prays to god he keeps it that way. Her legs are strong, evidence of a childhood spent running outdoors. He’s heard stories about her, how she can climb boulders and trees like a boy. Her calves might just match his. 

She walks to him, though bends suddenly to pick her dress and lay it over the chair in the corner. His little Dutch wife. He doesn’t mind. It gives him a view of her backside after all. 

She sits on the edge of their bed. The bed she’d only just put the linens on that she’d spent months working on. Peggy had told him to appreciate the embroidery. He hopes she likes how he’s chosen to show his thanks. 

“What was his last night like?” she asks and he’s almost forgotten who she was talking about. 

He sits up. “He was alone.”

She contemplates that for a moment. “What do you think he would’ve wanted?”

“You.”

She shakes her head. “That’s not true.”

He takes her hand. “He would if he knew you.”

She sits further up on the bed. “And what would he want me to do?”

He scoots closer to her, puts a hand on her knee. “Whatever you’d want. He’d be at your mercy.”

“Lie back down, Major.” She kisses him and pushes him onto his back, coming to lie flush against him. He pulls at her legs, places them on either side of his waist. Her breasts push down against his chest and, god, even the slightest of her grinding against him makes him ready to release all over her and her pretty sheets.

But he knows Eliza has other things in mind. She sits up, away from his lips, and positions herself over him. 

“He’d want this, yes?” she asks like a tease and he can’t take it. He pushes her hips down so he’s inside her. Her mouth drops into an “o” but she recovers after a moment and rises up.

“Not like that,” he says and she looks horrified. He touches her face. “Just listen. It’ll be better, ok?” She nods. 

“Don’t you wish I knew more?” And there’s something heartbreaking in what she thinks of her own inexperience. 

He smiles at her and he knows he’s cocky, but he cannot care. “I like getting to teach you. Now. Just…go back and forth, ok? Not up and down.”

“Ok.”

“And uh…lean over me. You know, put your hand on the wall. Or lie against me. You want to do that? I can start the pace.” 

She gratefully says, “yes.” 

She slips herself over him again and he thanks god that she is so slick, so turned on and he is too, that all this start and stop is ok. It’s killing him, but in the best way. 

He puts a hand on her butt and starts to move her up towards him then back down. He starts slowly. She’s holding herself up, the top of her head just below his chin. His other hand holds the side of her face so she won’t lose his gaze. He can stare at her forever, the way the veins in her neck stand out with each movement. 

He moves his hand from her face to one of her breasts, which makes her move a little faster on top of him. She’s only ever whimpered before during lovemaking, but now she’s starting to pant as she picks up speed. His name is coming out of her lips and he pushes her down so he’s deeper inside of her. Her movements become jerky and, for a moment, she loses her pace completely and falls against him.

“Sorry!” she exclaims. But she doesn’t need his help to get herself back in position again, to start moving just as she’d left off. She pulls herself up so she’s sitting up now, and he meets her, his mouth coming to her breast as she grinds into him, her hands at the back of his head holding him to her. 

He’s written thousands of words on war and governments, but he’s sure he could write thousands more on the feel of her nipple in his mouth. And thousands of more on top of that for the sound she makes when he bites. 

He knows he’s going to finish in a moment, and that he needs to come first. For her. So she knows exactly what she does to him, what she’s capable of. He pulls away from her breasts and hugs her close to him, stills her body and then lets out a muffled sound that can only be her name. He’s honestly not sure. 

She follows moments behind him with a long sigh of sweetness and pleasure. 

They stay there, holding one another, until they catch their breaths. He’s not quite sure he ever really wants to catch his breath. 

Finally, he lies down and holds her to his side. Her face stares at him in satisfaction. It makes the back of his throat hum. 

“Would you like wine, darling?” Eliza shakes her head.

She tugs on the lapels of André’s coat, her fingers playing with the buttons there. 

“There is not a woman more happy to be your wife.”

He kisses the top of her head.

“But I’m afraid I’ve failed at my original object of tonight’s activities.”

She sits up on her elbow and he’s not sure what she might mean. 

“I am afraid, sir, we both forgot our roles in this.” She fingers the coat again. 

He starts to sit up. “Eliza…” But she stops him with a finger to his lips. 

“What I stopped before? I want you to continue. As he would. He…he pleased women that way I am sure. Yes?”

He nods. “Of course.” 

“Then do it.” She slips onto her back as he sits up. She bends and spreads her knees and exposes herself, wet and pink and hot. He only got such a small taste before. She tastes like a woman, which somehow feels surprising. As if he nearly expected her to taste younger than she is. All those ways she’s been underestimated and here is another. 

She arches into him and he’s got her legs hooked over his shoulders, her butt high in the air so he can be on his knees as he licks and sucks at the little button at her center. He presses his tongue flush against it and it is like turning her on to life with how her whole body flushes awake. 

When she calls him “André,” he can’t help but pinch her butt. It seems like something André would do. She yells out in surprise and then laughs. God, he could live with that laugh forever. He’s going to.

He stops for a moment and kisses her inner thigh. “That is what you get, miss, for not giving your secrets.” 

“Well, I suppose I have more secrets I can not give away then.” 

He looks at her again and her face is red and her hair is messed beyond acceptable. Thankfully, she will not be expected at headquarters tomorrow, but he still will be. He knows he cannot look much better than her and it may take them hours to fix tomorrow the prices of tonight’s pleasures.

He pinches her nipple again this time as he sets back to work with his mouth. He’s always been good with his tongue, but he imagines the way André might flick or suck and tries to emulate it. He can’t even worry that she may not like it when he returns to his usual style. Of course, maybe he won’t. Maybe this is part of André he can be.

He does not even realize how hard he’s gotten.

She releases again and flops to her side to recover. He knows either she will have to take care of him or he will. He’d rather it be done by her, of course. 

“Miss Schuyler, you do leave a dying man without recourse,” he whispers, lying next to her, his hand running up and down her naked back.

She looks at him. “Major André, some are not as skilled in these arts as you. Give them time, darling.”

“Can I make it easy for you?”

She nods and looks almost sleepy. But she’s open to him when he turns her over and slips over her. Her arms encircle his neck and her lips accept a thousand kisses as he settles into her. His hands keep finding the back of her knees and running up and down to the butt and back. 

As small as he thought she was standing next to him, she’s even smaller when she’s under him like this. He takes a break from her leg and runs his hand from her throat to her breasts over the tiny, round stomach he’s so proud of and down between them. 

“When you marry, I hope he worships you,” he says. 

“I think I’ll quite like my husband, in fact,” she replies and he sinks as deep into her as he can. His mouth finds the spot below her ear that makes all her body hair stand on edge and he sucks the spot, keeping her in a constant state of alertness, until he finishes inside of her and collapses. He rests his head against her chest and she strokes her fingers methodically through his hair.

“I should move,” he mumbles but he makes no motion. They should change the bedding, he supposes. And they should both definitely deal with their hair. And he’d be wise to fetch some water and a cloth and clean their bodies from the stick. 

But he’s also not above the idea of having her on him all day, having the scent of her mix with his own while dealing with the General. It might be the only thing that could make him tolerate the next day. 

He’s thinking about it too much that he doesn’t notice her hand stilling in his hair. When he does, when he looks up and sees her eyelids near closed, he takes his head to his own pillow. He brings her close to him, her back to his chest, and wraps her again with him in Major André’s coat.


End file.
